


Sweet Relief

by Waddler



Category: Subnautica (Video Game)
Genre: Going insane, Masturbation, Stress Relief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 19:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13688391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waddler/pseuds/Waddler
Summary: Being the only survivor of a crash landing and ending up stranded on an alien planet can sure cause a lot of stress





	Sweet Relief

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I guess I don't have anything to say other than enjoy my first ever published smut.

Sometimes, life can throw a curveball or two your way. This is the norm. Everybody has a bad day or two. But what do you do when life shoots you with a cannonball? Well, you make do. And that’s what happened. You made do. I mean, being the only survivor out of over a hundred people, and nearly getting killed by not only the crash itself, but also the alien life that dominates the planet sure can take a toll on a guy’s psyche. But hey, it could be worse. You could be dead. That’s what you have to keep telling yourself. Things can only get better as long as you keep your heart beating. And despite all the odds, it’s still keeping your blood pumping. Now, all you need to do is find a way off of this accursed planet.

But that can wait for another day. You are absolutely exhausted. The only thing you wanna do right now is sleep. And that’s exactly what you would do, if it didn’t feel like you were the fucking poster child for PTSD right now. There had to be a way to get rid of all this stress, and relax before you went crazy. Or, well, crazier.

That’s when it hits you. What better way to get a load off, than getting a load off? It’s not like anyone would see, considering you’re the only one alive, and locked inside a fucking metal dome at the bottom of a goddamn ocean. With a heavy sigh, and some inexplainable semblance of guilt, you drag your fin covered feet and walk over to a chair in the corner of the room you’ve been sleeping in.

You sit down, and kick the stupid fins as far across the room as possible, giving a satisfied smirk at the thwack sound the rubber makes as it hits the metal wall. Next are the gloves. You slip them off, and let out a sigh upon seeing that they’re no longer covering up glowing, green pustules. Next, you reach up under the orange flap on the damn suit, and grab the zipper. Pulling it down, and feeling the way the skin-tight material pulls off and lets the once-covered skin properly _breath_ is like a little slice of heaven.

You pull the zipper down to the top of your thigh, and reach down, pulling your member free of your boxers. The way the frigid air hits it causes a sharp intake of air through clenched teeth. The physical sensation of something other than hunger, or aching muscles that have been used for swimming ungodly amounts of time with no breaks in-between is amazing. You shift forwards in the chair a little, slouching and getting comfortable, before running your thumb lightly up the shaft, then the head and feeling the way it hardens at the touch. The little tingles of pleasure that spark up and down your pelvis urge you to move your hand, so you start to pump the length slowly, letting out a soft sigh, not bothering to keep quiet. The slight friction just feels sooo _fucking **good**_.

You begin to speed up the movements, not realizing just how much you needed this. You start to let out the occasional grunt, or moan, and it’s not long before you can feel yourself begin to tense up. That spring in your gut that had been coiling since the first pump is starting to get unbearably tight, and your hips begin to thrust up into your closed fist. Your breathing becomes labored, and littered with desperate grunts and moans as you begin to desperately fuck into your warm hand, and you’re so fucking close, you can hardly stand it. You finally feel the clenching in your gut release and begin to slow the erratic movements, pumping lightly, and milking the orgasm for all it’s worth.

You let out a final sigh, slumping back in the chair, and bathing in the warm, pleasant afterglow. You know you’ll have to clean up the spot on the floor, but that can wait till later. Right now, you’re satisfied, warm, oh so very fucking tired, and more than anything, you just need a nap.


End file.
